‘The hospitality makes up for the barrenness of the land,’ thought Edgar.
There were a good many blackfellows about Yanda, and they were as keen on the scent of fresh-killed meat as a hound after a fox. Towards night, when the feasting was over, and Ben Brody, Edgar, and several of the hands were sitting on the wide veranda running round the homestead, dusky forms were seen advancing across the open plain.
‘Have you black men about here?’ asked Edgar in some surprise.
‘Thousands of ’em,’ said Brody, without moving a muscle of his face.
Edgar looked at him, smiling, and said:
‘They must be pretty tame if there are thousands of them. I suppose when you first arrived here you brought an army to conquer the country.’
‘We’ll say hundreds,’ said Brody; ‘I must have been thinking of sheep.’
‘Mutton again!’ whispered Will to Harry Noke. ‘He lives on mutton, consequently he thinks of sheep.’
‘How many hundred blacks have you on Yanda?’ said Edgar, who had been somewhat prepared for Ben Brody’s exaggerations by Wal Jessop.
‘Well, really, I couldn’t say for certain,’ replied Brody; ‘I’ve not had ’em mustered lately. When we’ve a bit of spare time I’ll have ’em counted for you.’